


The Best is Yet to Come

by Herenya_writes



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Academy Professors, Jim and Spock deserve to wear sweaters and drink something warm and teach bright-eyed cadets, M/M, but it was too much fun not to, but no one is actually unfaithful in this fic, i swear it is just tooth-rotting fluff, it's just them being adorable okay?, jim and spock come out to the Academy, listen i kind of got carried away with the professor bit, old married spirk, there is assumed cheating, this was written for the OMS challenge btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herenya_writes/pseuds/Herenya_writes
Summary: Jim and Spock have been happily married and teaching at the Academy together for several years, although no one there knows they're together. After a cadet barges in and accuses Jim of seducing Spock into cheating on his bondmate, Jim begins to wonder if maybe it's time to tell the world (although he doubts the news will stay on Earth alone) about their relationship.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 68
Kudos: 443
Collections: Old Married Spirk





	The Best is Yet to Come

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This fic was written for plaidshirtjimkirk's OMS challenge on tumblr. I'm so glad I got the chance to participate this year! I hope you enjoy it!

“Cadet McAllen makes a valid point. I have shown you one way to approach learning an entirely unfamiliar language over the course of the semester, but she suggests another. What is the flaw in learning only one system?” Spock asked, looking over the nearly-full classroom. His Introduction to Linguistic Analysis class was the largest of the three he taught at the Academy today, full of first and second-year cadets. A student on the fourth row raised their hand. “Yes, Cadet Hernandez?”

“While a large portion of the languages the Federation has encountered so far can be reduced to phonetics as you suggested, it’s possible we will encounter a race that has vocal cords that work very differently from ours,” they said, their voice gaining confidence as they spoke. “Or their language might not even rely on verbal expression much. If we only know how to approach things from a phonetic standpoint, we could be at a serious disadvantage later.”

Spock nodded, moving to change the image displayed on the wall behind him. “Correct,” he said, as an image of a crab-like creature appeared. “The Chilkta are one such example. They communicate largely through a series of clicking sounds made with their claws. My bondmate has remarked that their conversation sounds similar to castanets being played.”

Several of the cadets around the room began to jot down notes, nodding to themselves. The class was largely composed of students who planned on pursuing their careers in the communications field, although a small number were command-track students taking the course either as an elective or to fulfill one of their language credits. 

He turned the projector off. “This class, however, is an introductory one, and we will remain focused on a few core ways to approach linguistic analysis,” he stated. “That concludes class for the day.”

The students rose and chatter filled the room as they packed their bags and filed out of the lecture hall. Spock packed his own few items—he taught the rest of his classes for the day in a smaller classroom—and lingered until the last of the students had left the room. He was halfway out the door when the bond between himself and Jim began to glow softly in his mind, pulsing with love and affection. Jim always sent his love across the bond whenever Spock had finished a class. Spock opened his end of their link enough to return the affection before carefully closing it again—Jim was still teaching, and he did not wish to distract him.

. . .

Jim smiled to himself as he felt Spock gently—even after all this time Spock was so careful not to overwhelm him with his emotions—send answering love across the bond before closing his side. It had taken Jim a few weeks to memorize Spock’s schedule enough to time things right when sending emotions across the bond, but now that he was able to do it properly he knew it brightened both of their days. 

He blinked, focusing back on the class in front of him. He had set them to discuss the captain’s log he had played for them in small groups a few minutes ago, and it sounded like they were winding down. 

He stood from his desk and moved to the front of the room. There had been a podium there once, but Jim had quickly learned he moved too much while teaching for it to be effective. The last of the conversations faded away as he stood there, smiling slightly. “Everyone done?” he asked. The students nodded. “Good. Part of the final is going to refer to this log and our discussion today, so pay attention.” The words were largely unnecessary. This was one of his upper-level command classes—there were only twenty-one students in it—and the cadets were always involved in the discussion.

“First question then: how was hearing the log different from reading the transcript like you did last night? Although maybe saying over breakfast this morning would be more accurate.” A few of the students gave sheepish smiles. After a few moments, a young Andorian woman to the right of the classroom raised her hand. “Yes, Cadet?”

“It was much easier to hear Captain Avery’s inflection in the log,” she said. “Reading the transcript, it sounded very...dispassionate, as if he didn’t care about the crew members who had died during the First Contact. In the log, though, I could hear the emotion in his voice.”

Jim nodded. “Good. It’s the captain’s job to be objective about situations, and often that means pushing aside grief and anger in order to correct miscommunications or solve problems. That doesn’t mean you have to get rid of your emotions entirely though. Keep a level head, but you don’t need to try and become a machine. Anything else?”

One of the other cadets raised their hand, and the class continued, discussion and ideas flowing back and forth until he dismissed the cadets with a reminder to read the rest of the logs pertaining to the mission they were studying and take notes before they met again. 

He had three more classes today—two in one of the large lecture halls on the campus. He hadn’t been sure, at first, if he was going to be any good at being a professor, but over the past few years, he had grown used to the lifestyle he and Spock now shared. He grinned at the thought of his husband. Some days he had trouble keeping his energy up during his classes, but that wouldn’t be a problem today. Muted excitement had been thrumming through him since this morning—after over a month of being too busy with research, conferences, and other events, he and Spock had finally scheduled an evening to go on a date.

Maybe it was ridiculous of him to be so excited for tonight after being married to Spock for years already, but he couldn’t help it. Every morning he woke up with Spock at his side and he couldn’t quite believe that the half-Vulcan had chosen  _ him _ . Spock didn’t fully understand his wonder, but he let Jim plan nights like tonight and that was more than enough.

With his carefully laid plans running through his mind, Jim packed the things he would need for the next few lectures—along with the lunch that Spock had made him this morning—and left for the hall. If he moved quickly enough he would have time to set up his object lesson before any of the cadets came in.

. . .

Jim bounced back on his heels. He was once more in his smaller classroom, a group of fifteen command-track cadets gathered around two large tables in front of him. His past two classes had passed in a blur, but time seemed to drag now that he was so close to the end of his day. If Spock could see him, his husband would no doubt comment on his impatience and the fact that time had passed the same for the entire day, but the Vulcan wasn’t here.

His cadets were, however, and they were more perceptive than he gave them credit for sometimes.

“You look just as eager to leave as I am, Captain,” one of the cadets at the far end of the left table remarked. They were supposed to be reviewing the command structure of one of the current starships and evaluate why the captain might have chosen those people for those positions, but Jim couldn’t find it in him to be upset at their inattentiveness.

“Guilty as charged, Thompson, but unlike you, I’ve already served my time behind a cadet’s desk,” he replied with an easy grin. “What do you think of Captain Abaza’s command structure?”

Some of the humor in the cadet’s face faded and he straightened, his fellows turning their attention away from their PADDs and to him. “Well, sir, everyone is well qualified for the positions they hold.”

“But?” Jim prompted, sensing hesitation in Thompson’s voice. “Don’t hold back your opinions in this classroom.”

“I wouldn’t have chosen Commander Pisula as First Officer. He has the technical knowledge, but Harris has more experience.”

Jim nodded. “I thought that myself when I first looked the roster over, but then I took a closer look at the service records. Did anyone else see what I saw?” A cadet raised her hand. “Yes?”

“Abaza and Pisula have served together in the past, and their record together is one of the best we’ve looked over this semester,” she said. 

“Exactly.” Jim stepped up to the table and leaned on it, hands flat against the top. “You are all in the top of your class in the command track, and I know you all have your own ambitions about serving high in the ranks of a starship or base somewhere. Once you’re out there, though, you’ll learn that the Academy didn’t prepare you for everything.” He turned his attention to Thompson. “Out there, a captain needs to be able to rely on their crew, especially their First Officer. Abaza knows he works well with Pisula, and Pisula has the necessary qualifications. Sometimes, you have to look beyond the statistics on the page in front of you.”

He pushed off of the table and strode back to his desk. “I want an analysis of the command team on my desk by the beginning of class on Monday. You don’t have to agree with me, but I want a detailed explanation of your position. Now shoo, I have a date to get ready for.”

The cadets exchanged knowing glances and quickly left the room. “Have fun on your date, Captain Kirk,” one of them called as they left, and then Jim was alone. He packed his bags with practiced efficiency and took off at a brisk pace down the hallway. Spock’s classroom was across the campus from his, and he didn’t want to waste any time.

. . .

Spock looked up at the sound of the door to his office opening. Jim stepped in, face slightly flushed from exertion and beaming widely. “I had not expected you for another fifteen minutes and thirty-two seconds,” Spock stated, rising from his desk.

Jim leaned against the doorframe, his smile warming the space in a way the personal heater Spock kept by his desk never could. "I let my class out a few minutes early."

"Jim." There was no real disapproval in his voice, and his bondmate's smile only widened. 

"They're fine, Spock. We had a little discussion about the importance of looking beyond the facts as a captain, and that was good enough for me." His face became momentarily more serious. "You know, sometimes I think we push these kids too hard. I know they're Starfleet's soon-to-be best and brightest, but still..." His words trailed away and he shook his head, the smile returning to his face, only slightly dimmed in its splendor. "Are you ready to go, Mister Spock?"

Spock glanced over the PADDs on his desk. There were a number of reports he wanted to read and a few student papers he had yet to grade, but neither was pressing enough to deny Jim, especially not when he could feel the excitement and love flowing from his side of the bond. "Allow me to retrieve my coat, and we may depart."

He felt Jim's warm eyes follow him as he stood from his desk and crossed to the stand where his coat—heavier than a human would need for the current December weather in San Francisco—and pulled it on. He turned back to see that his bondmate's expression had softened.

"You put up with so much for me," Jim murmured, his love pouring over the bond, tainted by a few drops of the guilt he had never seemed able to fully release. 

"The cold is hardly a reason to leave," Spock replied, stepping up to Jim. "I am adequate, Jim, and I do not regret any of the choices that have let me be here with you."

Jim held two fingers out, and Spock met the ozh'esta gently, their bond shining brightly in his mind. He then leaned in and covered Jim's lips with his own in a brief human kiss. They pulled away from both a few seconds later, joy and contentment sparking across their bond. 

"Lead the way, Captain."

Jim grinned at him and pushed off the doorframe, and they left the room, Spock basking in the warmth his bondmate radiated—both physical and mental.

They were so distracted by one another that neither of them noticed the fact that the door to the classroom was slightly ajar when they reached it. They also didn't notice the young cadet around the corner at the end of the hall, eyes wide with a horrifying revelation.

. . .

Jim leaned against his husband as they waited for Nicolo to prepare their table. They were a few miles outside of San Francisco proper in a small Italian restaurant they had found during one of their shore leaves on Earth toward the end of their second mission. It had quickly become a favorite for their dates, and the staff knew all of their typical orders by heart. 

He had thought about going somewhere else to eat tonight—he and Spock were both fond of a little Thai place not far from their apartment—but ever since they had gone back in time to retrieve the whales Jim had found even more comfort in the familiar smell of the restaurant. Spock, of course, hadn't voiced any complaints, and so Jim let some of the lingering self-doubts fall away as Nicolo returned and led them to a small corner booth in the back of the room. There weren't many people in the restaurant, but the booth offered them even more privacy, which they both appreciated. 

Once they were seated, Nicolo—an older man with curly hair gone white and deep laugh lines creasing his face—asked, "Your usual, gentlemen, or would you like to see the menu?"

Jim caught Spock's eye, and in a silent conversation born equally of their years side by side and their bond they agreed. "The usual, Nicolo, thank you. Although I think we'll indulge in your wife's dessert platter later."

The man smiled. "Of course. I will be back with your rolls in a few moments."

Once Nicolo had left, Jim reached across the table and brushed his fingers against Spock's. It wasn't a true ozh'esta, but it sparked the bond regardless, and he reveled in the feeling. "No matter how many times I feel that it's never going to stop amazing me," he said quietly.

Spock’s eyes warmed further and he arranged their fingers into a gentle ozh’esta. “How was your day, Jim?”

They passed the next twenty minutes or so—if he asked Spock would have been able to tell him the exact time—talking about the classes they had taught that day and a few of the most interesting questions their cadets had posed. 

“This next generation of Starfleet officers is going to push the boundaries of what we know so much further than we ever did,” Jim remarked, taking a bite out of his second roll for the evening and chewing thoughtfully. After he swallowed he continued, “I know that on average each generation is smarter than the previous one—building blocks and all that—but sometimes they blow my mind with the things they say.”

Spock nodded. “Indeed. It is an honor to play a role in their instruction.”

They drifted into a comfortable silence after that—although silence wasn’t quite the right term as the bond continued to hum between them with the ebb and flow of their thoughts and emotions—until Nicolo arrived with their food a few minutes later.

He set the two plates down in front of them with a smile. “Eggplant parmesan for you, Mr. Spock, and the baked pasta sampler for you, Captain,” he said. “Would you like any extra parmesan?” Spock declined but Jim nodded, and Nicolo served him a generous amount before leaving them alone to their meal with a promise to return to check on them later.

The comfortable silence returned after Nicolo left and was broken only by the sound of their forks clinking against the sides of their dishes and occasional appreciative sounds from Jim. No matter how many times they ate here, the food always seemed a little better than it had been the time before. 

“Thank you for agreeing to a date tonight,” Jim said eventually, hooking one of his feet behind Spock’s calf under the table. Once, the gesture might have caused mild disapproval to flit across Spock’s face, but now his husband looked only fondly exasperated. “I like being able to show you how glad I am you decided to stay.”

Spock’s lips twitched into an expression Jim easily identified as a warm smile. “Of course, Jim. I find that I, too, take a not-insignificant measure of satisfaction from our ‘dates’. Your thoughtfulness is appreciated.” He paused, and their bond pulsed with love. “Although my decision to stay at your side was a purely selfish one.”

Jim grinned. “Ah yes,” he teased, “purely selfish.”

Spock’s amusement drifted across the bond, along with all the things they had said a million times before. Jim would be lying if he said a part of him didn’t ache from time to time when he remembered those three years when Spock had left his side, or when he had been torn from his life and left a hole so gaping Jim had believed it would swallow him whole. But Spock had returned. Both times he had come back, and the bond in his mind pulsed with the assurance that he would not be leaving again.

“Have you reviewed the topic for our joint lecture on Friday?” Spock asked, gently changing the topic of conversation, although the flow of love and affection across the bond remained undimmed.

Jim hummed around a forkful of his food. “‘When First Contact Goes Wrong’. A pretty broad subject, I think, although we certainly have enough expertise in the area,” he remarked with a chuckle. “I figured I could handle things from a captain’s point of view—an ethics overview and the importance of relying on both training and intuition—while you could talk about how to interact with cultures and languages.”

“That would be acceptable,” Spock agreed, as Jim had known he would. “It is my understanding that the lecture is to last for three hours at a minimum.”

“A lot of talking, for sure. You’d think people would get tired of hearing us blabber by now.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, and Jim smiled. “If that were the case, I do not believe the Academy would have sought us out as professors,” he stated dryly. 

The rest of their meal passed with quiet conversation about Spock’s work on a research project that was being conducted in one of the Academy’s labs this semester, the holo Bones had sent of him and Jo on vacation, and the news that Uhura had been asked to speak at an important communications summit on Risa in a few weeks.

They shared a small slice of cheesecake as well a cannoli—Jim took the opportunity to lean across the table to wipe a bit of cream from Spock’s bottom lip—and before long were seated side by side on a transport back to the city proper. Jim laid his head against Spock’s shoulder as the scenery flashed by the windows, sending waves of gratitude over their bond. They were met with gentle amusement and a soul-deep love that washed over him, filling all the broken pieces of himself as Spock had always done.

. . .

Spock was...content this morning. While he always found intellectual stimulation in teaching his classes, there was a satisfaction thrumming through his veins that was not always present. Jim had been correct when he had complained that too much time had passed since they had last been able to spend an evening together. It had taken him many months to adjust to not being by Jim’s side throughout the day when they had first accepted their positions at the Academy, and he would be lying to himself if he said he did not miss his _ t’hy’la’s _ physical presence.

Amusement filtered across the bond, and Spock realized his controls had become lax—he had not intended to distract Jim with his wandering thoughts. The amusement was quickly followed by a steady stream of love that glowed warmly in his mind and the knowledge that Jim understood and shared his feelings on last night. 

He answered by pushing his own affection across the bond and then carefully shielded it, turning his entire attention back to the lecture hall in front of him. The audio sample that he had been playing for the cadets came to an end, and silence fell over the group. “Can anyone identify the language being spoken?” he asked.

The room remained still for several moments as the cadets searched their memories. The language was not a common one, so he was not surprised by the response. Eventually, a cadet in the first row raised his hand. Spock nodded to him.

“It sounds a bit like Reskarian, Professor, but it’s different somehow,” he said, frowning. “Something about the vowel sounds.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, and he was reminded of the way Jim had remarked on the intelligence of the cadets they taught. “The language is from the planet Reskar, Cadet, but it is not Global Reskarian.” He clicked a button, his presentation shimmering to life on the wall behind him. “As you are all aware, it is extremely rare for a planet of advanced peoples to have a single language. Due to this, Federation Standard was established as the lingua franca of the Federation. However, there will be times when you are faced with a language such as this, and you will have to know how to confront it.”

Earlier in the semester, his words would have been met with cadets asking why they could not simply rely on their Universal Translator to provide them with the information they needed. Now, however, they nodded in understanding. 

“Your task for today is to determine what is being said using your own copies of the recording. This is a practice for your final exam next week,” he stated. “You may share your findings with one another if you wish, although you will not be able to do so on the exam itself. If possible, attempt to determine the meaning of the words as well.”

The last sentence earned him a few puzzled glances and a cadet raised her hand. “I thought that’s what we were doing already, Professor.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “As my bondmate has reminded me on numerous occasions, what a person says is not always what they mean. However, your primary focus for the day should be on determining the actual words being spoken.” Several of the students nodded, and Spock began to turn toward his desk but aborted the motion halfway through.

A cadet in the front room was staring straight ahead, eyes unfocused but expression tense. He took a step toward her, and when she did not react he asked, “Do you require further clarification, Cadet Glenn?” She started at the sound of her name and turned her eyes to him. The glazed look was gone, a tumult of emotions in its place. For four point seven-three seconds she did not speak, then,

“No, sir. I was just...thinking,” she said, the tension in her face was matched by the tone of her voice. Spock did not make a habit of prying into the emotions of his students without invitation, however, so he nodded and stepped away. It was likely that Glenn was experiencing a significant amount of stress due to the upcoming winter exams.

The rest of the class continued as normal, and the incident was pushed to the back of Spock’s mind.

. . .

“Now remember, as much as I might advocate trusting your instincts and the members of the crew around you, you have to know and remember the regs,” Jim declared, fixing his gaze on each of the seventeen cadets in his class in turn. “I know the reputation I have, and I’m not going to lie to you and say that I don’t deserve most of it, but the fact is there are going to be times when the regulation that you want to dismiss is there for a reason, and if you break that reg, you could end up putting a lot of people into jeopardy unnecessarily.

“This goes double for the regs you might think are pointless. Why do we need some kind of ridiculous chess code to identify yourself over comms when on an away team? Because space is strange.” He couldn’t help but shake his head, a small chuckle escaping him. “You’ve been at the Academy for a little over three years now, most of you, and I know some of you have been on ‘Fleet ships for extended amounts of time before, but I promise you you don’t understand just how weird things can get out there.”

A few of the cadets smiled, and he knew they were thinking of all the strange stories they had heard from upperclassmen when they were younger, from professors they half-believed were pulling their leg. A cadet raised his hand, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes, Ntumba?”

“How will we know, sir? When to trust the regs and when to trust our instincts?”

His eyes were open and curious and frightened, and Jim felt the weight of his duty to these children—they seemed so  _ young _ —press down on his shoulders. He sighed and leaned back against his desk. 

“I can’t answer that. I can teach you all I learned from my years out there, I can point you to essays and journals and a million other sources from captains and officers and admirals, but I can’t give you a definite answer to your question. When the time comes, hopefully, you’ll be surrounded by crewmates who can help and you’ve had experiences of your own to reference, but the truth is, you might not know what the wrong choice is until you’ve made it.

“And on those days, you’re going to have to learn how to push through and recover. There’s not a captain or officer out there who hasn’t screwed it up in some way, and you will too one day.” He allowed some of his earlier cheer to seep back into his voice. “I’m just doing my best to make sure that when that day comes, it’s not the end of the world.”

The cadets were quiet, but he could see questions in their eyes. Jim knew what it was like, to sit on the other side of those desks and listen to a professor talk about space and wonder if they felt it in their bones the way he did. If his former teachers could see him now…

He glanced at the clock on his desk behind him. Only five minutes left of class. Turning back to his cadets, he smiled one of his trademarked easy grins and said, “Alright, you’ve got five minutes for questions.”

The cadets’ eyes widened. Despite his reputation, Jim rarely spoke directly about his time as an active-duty captain and admiral unless it directly applied to the lesson he was trying to teach. He knew he had a habit of rambling when he talked about his time on the  _ Enterprise _ , and so he limited it to occasions like this.

Ntumba raised his hand first, and the questions began.

The five minutes passed quickly—Jim only managed to answer three questions, but the cadets didn’t seem to mind. There were half-disbelieving smiles on the majority of their faces as they filed out of his class, and he grinned to himself. He hadn’t even mentioned meeting Apollo or space Abraham Lincoln.

He was packing up his things and mentally going over the ingredient list for the soup he was planning on making tonight when he heard the door to his room creak open. He stood and turned, expecting to see a cadet who had left a bag or PADD behind. Instead, he was met with a cadet who radiated rage so strongly his first instinct was to reach for a phaser that hadn’t hung at his side in years.

“Is there a problem, Cadet Glenn?” he asked warily. He had had the woman in one of his classes on Wednesday, and she had seemed fine then. He tried to think if he had done anything that could have triggered her ire but drew a blank.

“How was your date last night,  _ Captain _ ?” she spat.

Jim’s confusion deepened. “It was excellent, although I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Cadet,” he stated, voice firm and arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. 

Evidently, that had been the wrong answer. Glenn’s eyebrows furrowed further, and her hands clenched into fists at her side. Then, just when Jim was beginning to wonder if her anger had frozen her in place, she took a deep breath, and the rage cooled to a steely fury. 

“I know you value your reputation as a charmer, sir, but I had thought you were honorable enough to know when to leave well enough alone,” she said quietly, passion burning in her words. “I don’t know what you did, how you managed to take advantage of him, but Professor Spock loves his bondmate very much, and the fact that you would come between them just to add another notch to your bedpost is reprehensible.”

Jim blinked and blinked again. Once his brain finally comprehended what Glenn was accusing him of his first instinct to laugh, but he swallowed the sound before it could escape. If the look in her eyes was any indication, now was not the time. Instead, he stepped forward, not enough to crowd her but enough so that she could see he was serious when he said,

“Who Mister Spock spends his time with is his concern, Cadet.” She opened her mouth to protest, but Jim cut her off, shaking his head. “No, no arguments. Whatever is or is not occurring between myself and Captain Spock is a personal matter that you have no right to interfere in.” He paused.

He and Spock had been married after V’Ger and remarried after they came back from the past and Spock began to remember what it was they had shared, but they had never been public with their relationship. The officers of the original  _ Enterprise _ crew knew, as did Starfleet command, but they had never seen a reason to publicize their marriage, especially with how much attention it would garner from the press. Now, though, Jim began to wonder if that hadn’t been a mistake.

“I admire your courage, cadet. Not many people would approach one of their instructors like this, and it’s because of that courage that I’ll tell you no cheating occurred last night on either of our parts.” Her eyebrows furrowed.

“But...the ozh’esta?”

Jim blinked. She must have been in one of Spock’s classes as well to know what that gesture was, considering how tight-lipped Vulcans were about pretty much everything. That would explain where she had seen them together. Not out at Nicolo’s but in Spock’s office. He shook his head. “You’re going to have to take my word, cadet. Now, I don’t want to hear any rumors around campus about this, do you understand? I couldn’t care less about my reputation, but Vulcans are private people.”

Her eyes shone with doubt, but Glenn nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.” She turned to leave, taking a few steps toward the door before stopping and looking over her shoulder at him. “Sir...if you are telling the truth, I apologize. Professor Spock deserves to be happy.”

Jim’s lips pulled up slightly, although he could feel a kind of soul-deep weariness seeping into his bones. “That’s a point we can agree on, Cadet.”

She held his gaze a moment longer—if she ever became a captain she would give the Admirals a run for their money, he was certain—and then left the room, the squeak of the door closing jarring in the heavy silence. 

He stood there for several minutes, mind running through a million situations. How many other people thought he and Spock were having an affair? Was it a campus-wide thing, or was Cadet Glenn an exception? He had been careful never to mention who he was going on dates with—he never even mentioned his partner’s gender, and while Spock’s cadets knew he was bonded, they had no idea who to. 

A huffing sigh escaped him, and he shoved the last of his things in his bag and strode out of the room. Standing here and brooding wouldn’t do any good.

. . .

“You have been unusually quiet this evening, Jim,” Spock observed softly. The man in question was currently gazing at the chessboard that sat between them, although his gaze was far away. “Is there something troubling you?”

Jim looked up, blinking several times. “Hmm? Oh, it’s not anything serious, Spock, don’t worry about it,” he said, moving his knight forward as he spoke.

Spock arched an eyebrow, leaving the rook he had planned to move untouched. “You are shielding our bond, Jim. If there is something disturbing you I would like to share in your burden. If you desire privacy on the matter I will not inquire further, but I ask that you trust me to fulfill my duty as your bondmate.”

Even after so many years together, Spock could still feel his heart rate increase when Jim looked up at him as he did now, eyes soft and open. 

“Spock,” he breathed, reaching across the chessboard to brush against his fingers in an ozh’esta. Spock returned the gesture gratefully, feeling the bond brighten somewhat in his mind, although it was still dimmed on Jim’s end. “I trust you with my life and my soul.” He paused, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. “I just don’t want to embarrass you,” he said eventually, his gaze trained down at their fingers, now intertwined beside the chessboard.

“After all this time,  _ ashayam _ , I thought you would remember I am incapable of such an emotion,” he teased gently, hoping the words—which they both knew were inaccurate—would put his bondmate at ease. 

Some of the tension in Jim’s shoulders fled, and he relaxed against the back of his chair. “A cadet barged into my classroom and accused me of having an affair with you,” he sighed. “Apparently she saw us exchange an ozh’esta in your office yesterday. Let me tell you, I haven’t seen someone that angry at me since the admirals found out I blew up the  _ Enterprise _ .”

Spock’s eyebrow crept upward. “And she took it upon herself to confront you for this supposed misconduct?”

A chuckle fell from Jim’s lips. “Yeah, I was pretty impressed.” He quickly sobered, however, and through the muted bond Spock could sense deep concern. “I’m worried about how many people think that,” he admitted. “I don’t care what the campus thinks of me—I know I have a reputation—but the fact that Glenn thought you would cheat on someone with me…”

Spock felt a smile pulling at his lips. Here was Jim being accused of an extreme breach of social conduct, and his prevailing thought was for Spock’s own perceived honor. “Those who believe either of us capable of being faithless to our partners know little of our characters. Do not allow their words or beliefs to trouble you, Jim.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Your move,” he said, gesturing with the hand not entwined with Spock’s to the chessboard. Spock moved his rook as he had intended, and the game continued.

Over the course of the next seventeen minutes and thirty-four seconds, Spock felt as Jim slowly unshielded his part of the bond, allowing his emotions and thoughts to flow freely once again. Spock did not bother to stifle the small sigh of relief as he felt his bondmate’s presence wind through his mind, and Jim squeezed his hand.

“Have you given any further thought to our joint lecture?” Spock asked, breaking the silence between them. 

Amusement filtered across the bond. “What, are you worried my ability to improvise has flown out the window in my old age?” Jim flashed a small grin, nudging his queen out of harm’s way.

“No. I simply wish to be informed of your plans so that when you inevitably deviate from them I will know.” His tone was dry, but inwardly he basked in the warm mirth and love that flowed freely from Jim now. It discomforted him whenever his bondmate’s emotions were shadowed.

“You wound me, Spock!” Jim laughed, his eyes crinkling. “But yeah, I have. I figured we could talk about a few of our own experiences—First Contacts that went right and ones that went wrong—and we could talk through what worked and what didn’t with the cadets. If we stop for questions after every example, we should be able to keep them engaged the whole time.”

A flicker of insecurity sparked in the bond but was quickly stamped out.

“I highly doubt the cadets will become disinterested in your lecture,  _ ashayam _ . There is a reason the Academy had to place limits on your class sizes.”

Jim blushed in the dim lighting of their living room, and Spock did not try to hide the smile that pulled his lips upward at the sight. His bondmate was exquisite. “You’re a flatterer, you know that?” Jim grumbled with mock-irritation. “And it’s not going to help you win this chess game, mister.”

Spock arched his eyebrow, eyes fond. “I speak only the truth, Jim. However, I will have you in check in four moves.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed and he looked down at the board, cursing under his breath when he realized the trap Spock had been carefully building. In truth, it was a mere distraction, and as Jim moved his knight out of the reach of Spock’s rook, Spock had to conceal the small flare of satisfaction that lit his mind.

Four moves later, Spock put Jim’s king in check, and the man conceded his defeat with grace. When they had first begun playing Jim’s jovial attitude in face of winning or losing had fascinated Spock. He had played with many humans before, and they had rarely displayed such an attitude. 

They cleared the table and packed away the chessboard with quiet efficiency born from years of practice and then made their way to the couch. Jim sat at the edge as he always did, and Spock allowed himself to relax, curling into his bondmate’s side, Jim’s warmth chasing away the chill that seemed to linger no matter how many times they increased the temperature in their apartment.

Not for the first time he wondered how it had taken them both so long to realize the affection that they held for one another. They spent their five-year mission exchanging lingering glances, standing with shoulders near brushing, carrying the other’s soul without a second thought. And yet it had taken going to Gol for Spock to realize just how integral Jim had become to his life.

“I can feel the gears turning in your mind, sweetheart,” Jim remarked, one hand coming up to thread through Spock’s hair. “What’re you thinking about?”

Spock remained silent for forty-two point three seconds as he attempted to put his thoughts into words. Then, he sat up and took Jim’s hands in his own, facing his bondmate and allowing the bond between them to open fully. Even after years in Jim’s presence, he doubted his ability to express his emotions properly.

“We—I—wasted much of the time we could have spent together, and while I am more than content with the way our lives are currently arranged, I wonder if we are not making a similar mistake now.”

Jim’s brow creased in a frown. “Are you talking about what that cadet said?”

Spock nodded. “I know that when we first entered into our relationship together, there was an excessive amount of media attention upon us following the V’ger crisis and then again after my death and subsequent resurrection. We agreed that it was for the best that we disguise our bonding and marriage.”

“Are you suggesting that we come out to the Academy?” Jim asked, a cautious smile spreading over his face. “I know we haven’t done much to draw the media’s attention lately, but we aren’t relics yet—there are sure to be questions.”

“Indeed. However, we are under no obligation to offer more information than we see fit,” Spock replied, and the excitement from Jim’s side of the bond sparked brightly. He untangled his fingers from Jim’s and arranged them into an ozh’esta. “I must admit, it would give me no small amount of satisfaction to be able to claim you as my mate in public.”

Jim smiled radiantly and leaned forward, threading his free hand through Spock’s hair as he pulled them into a kiss. Spock let his eyes fall closed as he drank in the feeling of his bondmate’s hand in his hair, warm lips moving so perfectly against his own, their bond glowing with the strength of a thousand suns.

Eventually, they broke the kiss, and Jim laughed softly. “You’re just looking forward to shutting down Celeste Meer the next time she tries to flirt with me,” he teased, and in place of an answer—the rush of possessiveness that raced across their bond was answer enough—Spock captured his lips in another kiss.

“When do you want to make this announcement?” Jim asked when they parted again, his words just this side of breathless.

“Tomorrow’s lecture seems an ideal venue,” Spock responded. “Although it would be wise to wait until the end to do so.”

That brought another chuckle from Jim. He leaned forward, resting his head against Spock’s shoulder, his breath tingling the skin of Spock’s neck when he said, “If we did it at the beginning we wouldn’t have to worry about taking up the whole three hours.”

“Jim.”

“Fine.”

Spock shifted them both until they were reclining once more against the back of the couch, Jim secure in his arms, head now tucked under Spock’s chin. “ _ Taluhk nash-veh k’dular, _ ” he murmured. Soul-deep love flowed both ways across the bond, warming Spock like a bonfire from within. 

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

. . .

Jim had to consciously keep himself from bouncing as he walked with Spock to the lecture hall. He could feel Spock’s amusement trickling across the bond, and he grinned widely. It was a mixture of anxiety and excitement that had him this way, but looking over at his husband’s collected expression grounded him as it had so many times before. Now, though, it was a lecture hall full of cadets and not a Romulan Bird-of-Prey they faced.

Spock raised an eyebrow at him, their wide-open bond no doubt letting him see some of the thoughts that had just flown through Jim’s head. Jim shrugged in response. “There are days when the cadets scare me more than the Romulans ever did.” 

“Indeed.” The word was delivered gravely, but Spock’s amusement brightened in his mind. 

Jim let himself bask in the feeling for a few moments before taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. “Right. Ready, Professor Spock?”

One of Spock’s tiny half-smiles found its way onto his face for a moment before he replied, “After you, Captain.” They shared one last look, and then Jim pushed open the door to the lecture hall and stepped inside.

To say the hall was full would be an understatement. Every available chair in the sizable room was taken, and cadets and faculty alike lined the walls. Jim let his surprise flow across the bond and found that it was echoed to a lesser degree by his husband. The lecture was supposed to be mostly for upper-level command track students, although invitations had been extended to cadets specializing in First Contact and xenorelations as well. This, however, looked like half the campus had decided to show up.

As he and Spock made their way to the two stools—it appeared the staff knew his aversion to staying seated—that had been set up in the front of the room, the hall burst into applause, and it was only his years of attention from the press as Starfleet’s Golden Boy that kept him from blushing at the praise. Applause always made him uncomfortable, but coming from cadets and staff who knew so much more of his service record than the average person made him doubly so. 

They took their seats, and the noise quieted down. He turned to Spock who raised an eyebrow at him expectantly. Oh, so he was going to start, was he?

Jim clapped his hands together, and the last of the chatter disappeared. “Well, this is a bit of a crowd!” he exclaimed and was met with a smattering of laughter from around the room. “So, the way this is going to go is Professor Spock and I will talk about some examples of First Contact from our missions—what worked and what didn’t—and we’ll stop for questions every now and then. We don’t have a visual presentation or anything, so if you plan on taking notes, feel free to use an audio recorder.” A couple of cadets grabbed their PADDs or notebooks and nodded to him. He waited another minute or so and then launched into the lecture. 

“Alright. The most important thing to know about First Contact missions is that they always go wrong. Even when you do everything right, something is going to happen. Sometimes it’s a big thing, and sometimes it’s a small detail, but there is  _ always _ something.”

The first hour or so passed quickly. Jim and Spock took turns describing a few of their own First Contact missions. They focused mostly on the straightforward ones first, and Jim took the time to refresh the cadets on the official First Contact procedures that every Starfleet vessel was sworn to obey. They talked about a couple of times that had gone smoothly—Jim and his crew had been well-prepared and had all the data they needed to make contact—and more than a few times that had started rocky. He could feel echoes of his husband’s regret and guilt over the bond as he recounted the  _ Enterprise’s  _ disastrous First Contact with the people of Grythan IV.

“We had done our research,” Jim said, shaking his head as he remembered the hours Uhura and the other members of her communications team had spent making sure the Universal Translator was programmed properly and ensuring that there weren’t any cultural gestures or phrases they wouldn’t understand. “But it wasn’t enough. Turns out there had been a coup of the government two weeks before we had arrived on the planet. We didn’t realize anything had changed, and the new government was less than friendly.”

“Four crewmen were lost during the mission, with an additional three severely injured,” Spock broke in. His voice was level as always, but Jim could feel pain along their bond. They had both nearly died that day. “The planet was then put under a Federation quarantine and has been monitored but not contacted since.”

Jim nodded, taking the reins of the conversation again. “We followed every procedure and planned that contact for weeks, but it went wrong.” He stood from his stool and strode forward. “That is going to happen to you. You have to remember that First Contact requires two parties, and either one of them has the potential to screw it up. Sometimes, it’ll be you. Sometimes, it’ll be them. You have to be prepared for both, and when it’s them, you have to be able to let go of the guilt.”

Comfort and admiration rushed across the bond, and Jim warmed. He ached to brush his fingers against Spock’s, to feel the way the bond flared whenever they touched, but he held himself back and focused back on the crowd.

“Any questions about those First Contacts? Anything about overall procedure or specifics?”

A couple of cadets raised their hands, and the next ten or fifteen minutes were spent answering questions. Spock did most of it, clarifying details Jim had forgotten and explaining the more technical aspects of the First Contacts.

By the time the second hour had passed, Jim had relaxed into the role and was able to retell a majority of their missions with ease. He and Spock spoke together with the same proficiency that had always seemed to accompany the briefings they had given to the Admiralty and their crew, finishing one another’s thoughts and seamlessly stepping in to clarify points. It felt wonderfully natural.

“Now, we’ve talked about the technical things you have to know, the way you have to study the languages and the cultures,” Jim said, “but there are going to be times when a misunderstanding occurs, and you’re going to have to decide whether to roll with it or take the time to clear things up. And that’s a decision you have to make carefully.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him, clearly understanding where Jim was going with this. Then, he turned back to the lecture hall and said, “One of the most difficult aspects of society to translate is the structure of social bonds. You know this instinctively—it is likely you have a close friend you refer to as family despite the fact that there is no blood relation between you. Thus, such mistakes are common during First Contacts.”

“When the  _ Enterprise _ crew arrived on Hor-Tresson, we had a pretty good idea of how the social structure there worked,” Jim stated, grinning slightly. “Their society is highly communal and is centered around social units similar to families, but different. It’s hard to put into words, but we thought we had it down. We were wrong.”

“The representative that we met with believed Captain Kirk and me to be the heads of a social unit. In Federation Standard, the closest translation is that she believed us to be married,” Spock explained, the bond humming with his dry humor.

Jim laughed. “They insisted on holding a ceremony for the two of us, which legitimized our supposed relationship on their planet and provided a common ground between Hor-Tresson and the Federation. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, and it wasn’t the last either.” The cadets’ eyes were wide. “Mister Spock and I have been married, what, five times?”

The amusement in the bond grew stronger, and Jim had to bite back a full smile as Spock said, “Seven, actually, Captain.” 

“The point of that is sometimes things are strange. Miscommunication happens, and if it’s something you can roll with, it might lead to new understanding and a stronger relationship between the Federation and the planet you’ve established First Contact with.”

At his side, Spock nodded. “However, such miscommunication can be dangerous as well. It is vital that all members of an away team involved in First Contact are versed in the cultural implications of anything they might do or say. What may seem a harmless gesture to a human or Vulcan could be a grave offense.”

Another flash of muted pain sparked across the bond, and Jim realized which mission Spock was talking about. He caught Spock’s eye and pushed comfort to his husband through the bond. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and Jim turned back to the audience.

“On Aevon VII, First Contact went smoothly at first. Everything was by the book, and we practically had an invitation to send ambassadors to the planet in hand when things fell apart. I had been talking to Ensign Dvorak, who was engaged to another member of the crew at the time. I clapped him on the shoulder like I always do and suddenly I was on the ground, tackled by three of the people we’d been talking with.” Jim shook his head. “Apparently, it’s a grave offense to touch someone in any way who’s engaged before the wedding. On Aevon VII, courtship and engagement are long, carefully planned things governed by a million rules. We hadn’t paid much attention to them because we weren’t planning on getting engaged to anyone.”

“It took two days of negotiation and explanation for Captain Kirk to be released from their custody and another three for the trust between both parties to be restored enough for the First Contact to proceed,” Spock broke in. “Captain Kirk had been scheduled for execution during the next full moon.”

Spock hadn’t slept at all during those two days, Jim knew. He could still remember the haggard look on his friend’s face when he had finally been released and sent back to the  _ Enterprise  _ to rest. It hadn’t been the first time he had been in danger and Spock had rescued him, but Jim remembered wondering that night if Spock would have looked that way if it had been someone else in his place.

Jim blinked, snapping himself from his memories, and the lecture continued. Eventually, the three hours were up, and Jim asked, “Any final questions?”

A cadet near the middle of the mass of people raised his hand. “Earlier, you said that you had been married five times—” A ripple of laughter flowed across the room, and the cadet waited for it to die down before continuing, “—and Professor Spock corrected you, saying you’ve been married seven times. I only remember five from your logs.”

Jim raised an eyebrow in a poor imitation of his husband, barely fighting back his grin. He couldn’t have planned this better himself. “I don’t hear a question in there, cadet.”

The man blushed pink and cleared his throat. “I guess my question is, which one of you is wrong?”

Jim turned to Spock, no longer bothering to hide his grin. Joy, amusement, peace, and surprise flowed across their bond from both of them, eventually settling into a sense of agreement as Spock turned back to the cadet who had asked the question.

“We are both correct,” Spock said, and the cadet frowned. “Captain Kirk was speaking of our marriages during First Contact, while I referred to the total number of times we have been married.”

Whispers broke out across the room as the cadets and faculty tried to figure out what Spock meant by that. Jim laughed quietly and shook his head. Spock wasn’t making this easy on them, although he shouldn’t have expected anything less—his husband could be devious when he put his mind to it.

Eventually, a different cadet in the back of the room shouted, “If you didn’t get married for a First Contact mission, why did you?”

Before either of them could answer another question was shouted from the opposite side of the room. “And why did you do it twice?”

Spock turned to him, eyes glimmering with emotions so many other people never bother to see, and Jim decided to take pity on the cadets. “Well, there are a number of reasons people get married, but we happened to do it because I am hopelessly head over heels for Mister Spock, and for some reason, he found something in me to make sticking around worth it.”

The room erupted into noise, but Jim barely heard it as love rushed across their bond with so much force he nearly stumbled. He turned, meeting Spock’s eyes again. “I found in you a bondmate unmatched by any others I have ever encountered,” he declared, his voice carrying easily over the cacophony around them. “I did not merely find ‘something’, I found my soul, my purpose, and my answer. Do not belittle yourself, even in jest. If this partnership is an unequal one, it is due to my own failings.”

Silence had fallen over the lecture hall at some point while Spock had been talking, but Jim was no longer focused on them. His eyes were trained on Spock’s, his mind basking in the strength of their bond. He could feel the conviction that thrummed along it, and he echoed it back, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“We’re quite the pair,” he chuckled wetly. Spock offered him one of his rare smiles in response, and together they turned back to their stunned audience. “To answer the other question,” Jim said after clearing his throat and blinking away his tears, “Mister Spock and I married—on the  _ Enterprise _ —not long after the V’ger crisis. We bonded the Vulcan way the next time we were on the planet.” He took a breath, steadying himself before continuing. “We remarried on Earth a few months after his resurrection, and once again bonded on Vulcan as soon as we were able.”

A young Vulcan near the front of the room bowed her head. “I grieve with thee for your loss, Captain Kirk,” she said, and Jim offered a weak smile. 

“Thank you, cadet, but I have him back, and I’ve never been happier,” he said, stepping up to Spock so that their shoulders were brushing. “Now, any other questions?”

They answered a few questions about their relationship, although not many—Spock was right when he said that they didn’t owe anyone any explanations—and a couple about the lecture, and then it was over, cadets filing out of the room, whispering to one another. Jim doubted it would take an hour for the entire campus to find out what had happened.

“Well, that was exciting!” Jim laughed, nudging his husband lightly. “How long do you think it will be before we get a comm call from Bones yelling about how it took us long enough to tell everyone?”

Spock arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching a centimeter upward. “I estimate two hours.”

“Two whole hours? I bet we won’t even make it off-campus. He’s got connections, you know.”

Spock hummed in response, and Jim rested his head on his husband’s shoulder. It felt so good to be able to do this while they were both still in their instructors’ uniforms. Spock was part of every moment of his life, in and out of uniform, and now he could finally show him off in public.

“You know, I think I might need to thank Cadet Glenn for blowing up at me. If she hadn’t been so concerned with your honor, I might not have ever been able to do this.” He tilted his head up and pulled Spock down to him, kissing him until the universe narrowed to just the two of them locked together as they always had been and always would be. Their bond was lit with their love, and he sighed blissfully into the kiss. Was there anything better than this?

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? I know I kind of rambled a bit, but OMS just gives me warm and fuzzy feelings and I couldn't help myself. They just...OMS just feels like a crisp November day spent with a warm drink and curled in front of the fireplace. You know?
> 
> Anyway, thank you very much for reading! Comments give me life, so if you have some time to spare I'd love it if you let me know what you liked/thought. LLAP!


End file.
